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Despite the heavy topic, my lips curled up in a smile. “Doc, are you calling me a slut?”
She ignored me. “I’d like to know if you’re getting the benefits from the promiscuity that you tell yourself you are.”
My fingers absently picked at the threadbare fabric of the couch cushion beneath me. “Sounds like it’ll be a fun session.”
“You bet it will. And Ghost, I want you to remember that healing isn’t linear,” Maggie said gently, a hint of concern in her eyes. “There will be setbacks, but it’s crucial to keep pushing forward and not let those negative thoughts hold you back.”
“Right,” I murmured, my gaze drifting to the floor as I contemplated her words. It was a constant battle, one that left me drained and weary.
“Stay focused on your progress.” Maggie looked at me with warmth and pride. “Celebrate the small victories, and don’t forget to lean on those who care about you for support.”
As our session drew to a close, I felt a strange mix of relief and trepidation wash over me. After ending the call with Maggie, I sat staring at the blank screen, lost in thought. So much to process, so much work left to do. But for the first time, real hope flickered inside me. Maybe I could move past this after all.
A knock at the door jarred me from my reverie. “Ghost, it’s time for soundcheck.”
I scrubbed a hand over my face and stood up, shaking off the heaviness that had settled over me during the call. “Be right there.”
Chapter 25
Remi
The relentless hum of the newsroom at Hollywood Exposé surrounded me, the energy pulsing like a living thing. Phones rang incessantly, my colleagues barked into headsets, and keyboards clattered beneath frantic fingers. Above it all, the large wall-mounted TV screens played endless loops of celebrity gossip and breaking news. This was my domain — a world I thrived in — but today, it felt like a cage.
“Remi,” my assignment editor’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts. “I need that YouTube Yokels piece by Friday. Don’t forget you’ve got other deadlines coming up, too.”
“Of course, Elaine,” I replied, forcing a smile. My heart sank as my eyes darted across the piles of paperwork on my desk.
My temples throbbed as the familiar knot of anxiety crept in — the quiet panic of deadlines looming, stories half-written, and dangling unfinished threads that needed to be tied off. Shit, I was so far behind.
I sank into my chair and dug my hands into my hair, worry rising in my chest. The YouTube Yokels piece was a mess. The Ghost Parker package was far from complete — I wasn’t even sure of the angle I was going with yet, and I could feel the weight of my other deadlines pushing down on me like a ton of bricks.
I should have done more work while I was on tour with Ghost Parker. Instead, I had been swept away by the intensity of my connection with Ghost, the intoxicating days and nights we spent tangled in each other’s arms, but now I was paying the price.
I couldn’t lose myself in those memories now. I had a job to do, and my time with Ghost had put me irresponsibly behind.
“Hey, Remi.” Linda appeared at her desk next to mine, stuffing her large purse into the side drawer of her desk. The scent of cigarette smoke lingered in the air around her, a stale, sour smell that hung heavy like fog. She must have just returned from one of her many cigarette breaks. “I’ve been dying to find out. How were the Yokels?”
I didn’t have time for gossip, but Linda had a mean streak, and I didn’t ever want to be on the receiving end of it. “Let’s put it this way, they weren’t the backwoods hicks they pretend to be.”
Her eyes lit up. “Oooh. Interesting. How was Bubba? All that redneck culture repulses me, but there’s something so hot about Bubba.”
Refraining from rolling my eyes, I told her the truth about good old Bubba. “He’s actually a savvy businessman under all that camouflage.”
I watched in real time as the air deflated from her ‘Bubba’ fantasy.
My phone buzzed, and for a moment, hope and apprehension warred in my chest. But the text was from my boss, not Ghost.
Caroline: Where’s the draft on the awards show? You’re already two days late.
“Fuck!” I’d completely forgotten about that piece. I started to type an apology but stopped myself. I was already on thin ice after extending my time on the Ghost Parker tour. Excuses wouldn’t cut it.
Me: I’m on it. Will have the draft to you before I leave today.
Linda snickered next to me. “It must be tough to come back to reality after traveling with a rock band for weeks.”
“Reality bites,” I muttered, pulling on a headset and tuning out Linda.
Cracking my knuckle, I pulled up the awards showpiece, scanning the half-written draft. I groaned and then deleted entire sections that were overly florid and fangirlish. I lost myself in my work, fingers flying over the keyboard as I researched, wrote, and edited, chasing the clock. By the time I finished the draft for the editor, it was well past midnight.
